


take me out, baby

by downpours



Series: love behind bookshelves [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Addiction, Homelessness, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves Whump, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, M/M, Modern David "Dave" Katz, No Incest, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Underage, Prostitution, Protective Ben Hargreeves, Softie David "Dave" Katz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downpours/pseuds/downpours
Summary: For someone who spent a decade running from the debts he owed, Klaus spent an alarming amount of time trying to recompense Dave for loving him.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Series: love behind bookshelves [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095791
Comments: 27
Kudos: 204





	take me out, baby

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to @forestdivinity for helping me characterize dave! i can't believe I've never written klave, so, here, take some klave.
> 
> TW in tags. there's a lot.
> 
> title from [jobless monday - mitski](https://youtu.be/xOH-Rnq1__8)

Klaus didn’t care about the bartenders he ripped off with unpaid tabs. He didn’t care about the “party favors” he owed to half the dealers in the tri-state area. And he _definitely_ didn’t care about the tax dollars he refused to pay to the IRS.

But for someone who spent a decade running from the debts he owed, Klaus spent an alarming amount of time trying to recompense Dave for loving him.

Meeting someone like Dave came as a surprise.

Klaus always hated surprises. To normal children, surprises meant birthday parties and whoopie cushions. To him, surprises meant ghosts behind corners and missions gone wrong.

So: Klaus. Hated. Surprises.

That’s why he loved one-night-stands; the people he slept with couldn’t surprise him even if they tried (as they often did).

When Klaus was young and naive, he thought that lust was the same thing as love. Growing up as the son of Reginald Hargreeves, he never knew what it felt like for adults to look at him with anything other than foul distaste. But when his father first locked the liquor cabinet, that all changed. Klaus had to make his own luck if he wanted a fix of Anti-Ghostie Medicine. 

The sixteen-year-old roamed the moonlit streets like a walking broken record, repeating the same lies to different bouncers with the same results: “go home, kid” or “get out of here before I call the cops”. Klaus was about ready to give up when he spotted the sketchiest dive bar he’d ever seen.

It was a stroke of pure luck; the bar was so close to foreclosure that they didn't care how young he was, so long as he paid. Klaus sauntered inside, the eyes on him trailing goosebumps up his neck. His fake confidence fell when he tripped getting on the barstool. The teenager’s sweaty cheeks flushed in humiliation. But...the bearded man behind the bar simply laughed good-naturedly, swearing “that was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen”.

At that moment, he discovered a new kind of high: the high of feeling _wanted_. The praise he received eased something broken inside him. When the other drunkards thrice his age hit on him, he let them. Even more intoxicating than the liquor were the comments about how pretty he looked sipping it. He pleaded when the bartender gave the last call for “just one more.” For the first time in his life, he felt good at something. Good _for_ something.

Klaus stumbled back home to the sounds of catcalls and wolf-whistles. (He let himself believe that they were compliments.) 

When he returned to the mansion, he found himself wishing he didn’t. Number Four was never treated like a worthy asset to the Academy. Number Four—the ultimate middle child, trapped between his siblings even in namesake. He never had as many fans as his brothers and sister. Number Four might as well have been born like Number Seven. After all, what good were powers nobody else could even see? Interviewers were never interested in what he had to say about himself, only interested in what he had to say about _Spaceboy_ or _The Horror_. Nobody ever thought he was worth a second glance.

That was not the case on the streets. When Klaus snuck out clad in glitzy makeup and revealing clothes, he turned heads. Good attention, bad attention—he didn’t care. He was the main attraction, and attract he did.

His siblings might be able to make grown men cry from left-hooks and stab wounds, but Klaus could make the same men _blush_ without even touching them. (That ability felt more like a superpower than seeing the dead ever did.)

Since the dive bar, Klaus spent as many nights as possible letting men and women trick his soul into feeling wanted—even if all they wanted was the pretty vessel containing it. He giggled, twirled his hair, batted his eyelashes, and let himself feel loved for an hour or two. 

Sometimes, the men and women he spent time with felt a little _too_ real. 

One night, he coaxed a guy named Luke into sneaking him into a party at a nearby college. Luke was charming, non-threatening—bookish, even. He had kind brown eyes and a warm smile that made Klaus feel safe. And he was only four years older than Klaus, which made him feel like he had an actual chance. They shared a joint on the walk to the frat house, philosophizing about their cosmic insignificance in lengthy words that made Klaus feel sophisticated. Knowing that older people liked him had that effect. (Privately, Luke didn’t think Klaus sounded the least bit mature. The teenager sounded baked, but he was into that.)

When they got to the frat house—Alpha Theta Beta Gamma Whatever—Luke treated Klaus like a trophy wife. Klaus was agnostic, so he wasn't sure what he expected of heaven, but he thought that the keg-littered room might be the closest he'd ever get to the pearly gates. He delighted in the way Luke was so attentive to his needs. It was sweet, the way Luke was so concerned about making sure Klaus was having a good time. Luke always kept his Solo cup full and served him whatever he asked for. The frat boy packed his bowls and complimented the way Klaus sucked the smoke down with ease. Luke even lent him his jacket when the buzz wasn’t enough to keep him warm. Klaus felt just like the pretty girls in Allison’s favorite rom-coms; to feel cared for was a wonderful feeling.

Too bad it didn’t last.

It all went downhill when he started to feel woozy. His head was numb and fuzzy in a way that weed and alcohol had never caused. Klaus loved getting crossfaded, but this felt different. More intense. His boneless body sank into the stained couch, limbs not cooperating as they should. Sure, Klaus was several shots deep, but his liver had built up an impressive tolerance over the past few months. He knew he didn’t drink enough to be passing out so early. On the brink of unconsciousness, he wondered what he was drugged with so that he could avoid buying it in the future.

When he came to the next morning, he was no longer wearing Luke’s soft jacket. 

He was no longer wearing anything at all.

Klaus was sixteen when he learned that disillusionment had a come-down worse than any drug. He left the frat house irreversibly changed from the young and naive kid that entered it. Ever since Luke, Klaus expected the way men and women treated him: a cheap means to an end. It didn’t matter how nice they seemed. It didn’t matter if they had kind eyes and straight teeth. It didn’t matter whether Klaus acted young or mature or dumb or smart. It didn’t matter whether he wore pants or skirts or panties because he’d never be seen as a full person so long as lust was involved.

From then on, he vowed to never expect anything for free.

Klaus spent the next eight years entrenched in the type of transactional love he’d learned to find comfort in. Nobody could take advantage of him if he was the one offering it up. In romantic relationships, he made sure that he never owed anyone anything. He was in control. If he flirted with someone and they bought him drinks, he’d make sure to put out before they could take it themselves. People didn’t buy him things because they enjoyed his stimulating conversation. But that was okay. It was mutual. A warm body was a warm body.

“Go on, take me, I’m yours,” he’d say, rolling his hips in an offer. Klaus never wanted his body anyway.

Klaus knew exactly how to present himself. He painted his face like a debauched doll, dressed up for someone's equally debauched pleasure. Like a Barbie in the hands of a particularly unimaginative kid, he was destined to play out the same fantasy until his novelty wore off. And when the buyer found a new toy, they would scrap him for parts and Sharpie his skin with words so degrading that nobody could mistake him for a real human being.

(Some clients said his lack of self-respect was his entire appeal.)

The next night, he’d paint his face again. He’d play make-believe in a new dollhouse, drenched in the same stench of regret, sweat, and cheap beer. It would feel the same. He wouldn’t care. Because even when Klaus was a disappointment to himself and everyone around him, even when he missed court dates and family phone calls, even when he fucked up time after time...

His body was still warm, and he was still wanted. It was the beggar's form of unconditional love.

That was just the way the world turned, and he had made his peace with it long ago.

And then he met Dave.

The first time Klaus talked to Dave, it was in broad daylight, fully clothed and sober. That fact alone was remarkable. After getting kicked out of his latest fling’s apartment, Ben finally convinced him to sign up for a program at the public library that covered job training and finding housing. Klaus didn’t expect to get anything out of it. He just wanted Ben to quit his whining. Klaus was in the middle of reading a squid recipe out of a cookbook— _Hey Ben, did you know that you can make tentacle soup?_ —when he was interrupted.

“Hi there, are you here for the 2 o’clock seminar?” inquired a kind voice with a Southern lilt.

Klaus startled, the cookbook landing on the floor with a _thunk_. He turned to face the voice and was not disappointed by the face (and body) it belonged to. The man had classic boy-next-door charm, with a soft crop of sandy hair and blue eyes matching a freshly-ironed button-up. He was only slightly taller than Klaus, but the difference in muscular physique was enough to make Klaus momentarily forget why he was there. 

“Yeah, are you?” asked Klaus, doubtfully eyeing his khakis. Southern Boy didn’t exactly look like a person who lived on the streets.

“Great! Yes. Well, kind of. I’m the librarian running this program.”

“That makes more sense,” Klaus let out a snort, “I have to be honest. I thought that hot librarians only existed in porn. Or—wait—are you training me for a _different_ kind of interview?”

Ben groaned. 

Button-up simply shook his head with a flustered laugh. 

He extended his hand. “I’m Dave.”

“Klaus.”

Soon enough, a small group joined them around the study table. After a jovial introduction, Dave outlined the steps necessary to get from the job application to the first day of work. He mentioned that the library offered resources such as resume proofreading and mock interviews. He even let them know about a free service that rented secondhand professional attire for interviews. It was actually rather helpful (not that he’d ever admit it to Ben). At the end, without a trace of judgment, he also listed the times that the library offered free trauma and substance abuse counseling.

The way Dave talked to the participants felt foreign to Klaus. It felt as if he wasn’t talking down at them, but rather having a conversation with a colleague or a friend. In all honesty, Klaus walked into the seminar half-expecting to be called a junkie hooker. (Guys who wore boat shoes like Dave’s typically had some very colorful things to say about Klaus.)

But Dave was kind. Dave laughed at his jokes without a hint of insincerity, and never pushed as to why he needed the seminar in the first place.

When Ben first dragged him into the library, Klaus didn’t expect to last more than five minutes inside. He didn’t expect to be disappointed when the first workshop ended. 

And he _definitely_ didn’t expect to show up early the following afternoon just to talk to some nerdy librarian.

“Look who’s early,” grinned Dave, setting down a pile of books on an overflowing cart. 

“Dave,” he drawled, “I promise I don’t make a habit of coming early.”

It takes Dave a moment before he chokes on a laugh. “You are something else, Klaus.”

The medium twirled his purple scarf dramatically and bowed in response, earning a chuckle.

“Did you get a chance to start working on that resume?”

Klaus’s smile fell. “Yeah, about that…”

“Hey, no, it’s okay!” Dave reached out placatingly. “It’s completely normal to struggle starting these things out. It’s hard. We have a bit before the program starts, and if you’d like, we can brainstorm over some coffee. There’s a place next door.”

Swallowing the butterflies he felt from Dave’s touch, Klaus nodded jerkily. _It’s just platonic_. _It’s not like that. He just wants to follow up on his investment to make sure you’re not wasting his time._

At the cafe, Dave asked Klaus what he wanted (“My treat!”). It was one of those upscale joints with fair-trade espresso beans (whatever that meant) and Klaus was not about to owe him favors over a five-dollar cup of fucking coffee. Even he was better than that. He wanted to pay for a drink so that Dave couldn’t laugh about how broke he was, but Ben—incorporeal or not—would find a way to deck him in the face if he blew his dinner money on something so petty. So Klaus lied. He said didn’t like coffee, opting for the free ice water instead.

The pair sat down across from one another. To strangers, they looked like complete opposites. Dave: nursing an overpriced hazelnut latte, careful not to spill on his fresh-pressed khakis. Klaus: sucking the life out of a plastic straw, not caring when water dripped onto his skirt-clad thighs. Ben wondered whether Klaus acted indecently in front of Dave on purpose, or if he’d just gotten so invested in the role he played at work that it bled into his everyday life. The second thought made him frown.

“So,” Dave set down his latte. “Easy stuff first. Highest level of education?”

Well, that was decidedly _not_ an easy question.

“I...didn’t graduate high school,” Klaus settled on. Technically, he didn’t even graduate elementary school. He’s not sure what was legally accepted as homeschooling, but he doesn’t think that the sparring lessons he took in the Academy were accredited by the Board of Education.

“No worries. If you’re interested, the library offers GED prep tutoring.”

Klaus nodded noncommittally.

“Do you have any prior job experience or community service? It doesn’t matter how small it is, even if it’s just babysitting siblings.”

“Well, I’m the middle child out of seven kids—” Dave nodded encouragingly, “—but we’re all twenty-four, born on the same day.”

At that, Dave was thrown off-track. “All of you are the exact same age?”

“Yep,” Klaus said, popping the ‘p’. “Although...sometimes it feels like I’m babysitting my brother Ben.”

Ben stuck his tongue out in response.

“Huh,” mused Dave, “well, I won’t pry if you don’t want me to. Any other job experience?”

Klaus took a long sip of his water.

“Customer service,” he drawled.

“That’s great, Klaus! Where did you work?”

“Wherever they wanted me to.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Usually _down south_ , though, if you know what I mean.”

Dave furrowed his eyebrows. “So, you traveled to do freelance work for small businesses?”

“I wouldn’t call them small,” deadpanned Klaus. He held eye contact for a few moments before he broke, bursting out into laughter. “I’m—fuck, sorry, you’re just so innocent. I’m a sex worker, Dave.”

A beat went by. 

“Oh. Okay,” Dave replied mildly.

Now it was Klaus’s turn to be confused. “As in, I’m a prostitute.”

“You told me that, Klaus.”

“Like, I’m a hooker.”

"I understand that."

“No, but like—I’m a whore.”

“I really don’t like that term.”

Klaus let out an exasperated huff.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

Sorrow flashed in Dave’s eyes. “Sex workers deserve as much respect as ‘customer service workers’, Klaus.”

“Really? Because I don’t think writing ‘Professional Slut’ on my resume would make potential employers _respect_ me. But if it does, that’s fantastic news, because I have eight years of job experience— _ahem_ —under my belt.” He tugged the band of his skirt for emphasis.

The joke fell flat.

Now, _that_ got a rise out of Dave. It was one thing to choose a career in sex work out of genuine interest. Dave always held progressive ideals about its decriminalization. But it was another thing to enter the world of sex work before you could even legally consent.

“I thought you said you were twenty-four,” stated Dave.

Klaus frowned. “I am?”

“And you’ve been working for eight years?”

 _Ah, shit,_ thought Klaus.

“I was something of an early bloomer.” His grin didn’t reach his eyes. He suddenly found the discarded straw wrappers on the floor fascinating.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” assured Dave, “and I know that this isn’t exactly a coffee shop type of conversation. But Klaus, I need you to know that this doesn’t change my opinion of you in any way.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, I know what people think of me before I even tell them what I do.”

“That—that’s truly not what I meant, Klaus.” Dave took a moment to recompose himself. “I don’t know you very well, but what I do know is that you are one of the most enigmatic and interesting people that I’ve ever had the pleasure of talking to, and I work at a _public library_ in _New York City._ ” 

Klaus snorted at that. 

Dave took that as a sign to continue. “I don’t want to assume anything. But you clearly haven’t had an easy go of it, and it makes me so angry that folks have used that as a reason to treat you badly.”

“ _Pfft_. I’m not some damsel in distress. I can take it.”

“I know you can, Klaus,” Dave said carefully, “I can tell that you’re tough as nails, but that doesn’t mean you should have to be. You deserve better. I’m just...grateful that you decided to come to the library.”

A few moments went by before Klaus could find the words to reply.

“Thanks,” murmured Klaus, without any of his typical showman’s flair. 

“Any time.” Dave hadn’t taken his blue eyes off of him throughout the entire conversation, and it felt so intimate that Klaus forgot they were supposed to be going over his resume. As if reading his mind, Dave added, “We can talk about the resume some other time, when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” Klaus smiled. “Now, we should probably get back before I get you fired.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus. I completely forgot about the seminar.”

“I can’t help it, my company is just so captivating.”

“Yeah,” Dave agreed in complete seriousness, “it is.”

Klaus blushed. Dave didn’t know it yet, but for someone as shameless as Klaus, that was a rare feat.

Over the next couple of weeks, Klaus’s visits to the library became the first healthy routine that he had adopted in years. In between hooking for food and shelter, Klaus showed up to the library every day at 2 o’clock without fail. 

Klaus still drank. He still popped pills and smoked cigarettes. He still searched for comfort in the bodies of strangers. But Klaus also filled out job applications, went to GED prep classes, and shelved misplaced library books even though it wasn’t his job.

Klaus called it multi-tasking.

Ben called it growth.

One ordinary Tuesday, Klaus excused himself from the library workshop to take a call. It was from a number he didn't recognize, but that was normal, considering he never took the effort to add clients to his contacts. If it was a client, he didn't exactly want to subject the innocent patrons of the library to that conversation.

"And you say I don't care about others," Klaus hissed to Ben on his way out.

"You once replaced Luther’s shampoo with hair removal cream because he didn’t let you choose where to order takeout.”

Klaus blew him a raspberry before answering the call.

“Are you looking for some company tonight, handsome?” he asked huskily.

“Uh—this is Anthony from The Blissful Burger, is this Klaus Hargreeves? I’m calling about your job application.”

“Oh!” Klaus yelped, “Yeah, this is he. I’m so sorry, I was expecting a call from my er—my grandfather. He has dementia, sometimes nicknames help him remember the good old days when my grammy was around, you know?”

“Right…well.” An awkward cough. “We’re so short-staffed, I’ll ignore that. Do you have time for an interview next Tuesday at four?”

“Let me just check my calendar.” Klaus shuffled the pages of a random book into the microphone. “That works for me.”

“Great. I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.” Anthony hung up without another word.

Klaus stared at his phone breathlessly. “Ben, I just got a fucking job interview as a homeless guy without a resume.”

“You did,” Ben affirmed, equally surprised. “And you accidentally flirted with him. Wow. You should tell Dave.”

“I should tell Dave,” he repeated, his brain short-circuiting from the fact that one of his siblings sounded _proud_ of him.

He strutted back into the workshop with his hands on his hips. “Davey! Guess what!”

Dave looked up from under a stack of papers he was reviewing. “Good news?”

“Very. New York’s unemployment rate is going down,” Klaus paused for dramatic effect, “if my interview goes well, that is.”

“That’s amazing!” Dave cheered, shooting out of his desk, documents forgotten. “Wow! That’s a huge deal.”

“It’s just an interview.”

“You know everything I said about interview prep still stands, but once they meet you, I’ll be damned if you don’t get it. Good work, Klaus. I mean that.”

All Klaus could think was: _This is a weird feeling._

“It’s all thanks to your tutoring,” Klaus waved off, desperately trying to suppress a teacher/student pornographic comment.

“You give me too much credit.” 

The day after the phone call, there was no workshop scheduled, but Klaus still found himself roaming the bookshelves in search of a familiar boy in a button-up shirt.

“Hey, Klaus!”

Right on time.

“I don’t know if this is appropriate…” Dave trailed off, staring at the floor. “But the seminar is almost over, and I’m really proud of you for all of the work you’ve put in the past few weeks. I’d love to keep in touch. Maybe we can get brunch next week? My treat.”

Klaus blinked.

“Forget it, I’m sorry, that was so unprofessional of me—”

“No! No, I’d love that.” Klaus smiled even though he felt like his insides were on his outsides. He wondered if this is how Ben felt when he released his tummy buddies.

“Good, good,” nodded a red-cheeked Dave.

Klaus spent the rest of the week restless with anticipation. He may or may not have stolen an outfit for the event: a tight crop top and a pair of floral-print bell-bottoms that made Ben wrinkle his nose. Klaus knew it wasn’t a date, but he still wanted to look fuckable in case he had gotten the wrong idea. Or, that’s what he told himself. The other part of the reason he stole the outfit was much more innocent and a hell of a lot more embarrassing: he was developing a schoolboy crush for the campus librarian.

The address Dave supplied led Klaus to a modest hole-in-the-wall, yet to be gentrified like the rest of the restaurants on the block. Klaus was thankful that he didn’t take him somewhere fancy. He made some cash from his client the night before, but after spending a good chunk of it on weed and cigarettes, what remained in his pockets wouldn’t cover a high-end meal. Dave would spot him for his meal if he asked, but he would rather chew off his own foot than deal with that mortification. 

The diner’s interior was charmingly bizarre, cluttered with kitschy fabrics and clocks shaped like cats. It reminded him a bit of an acid trip he once had. Klaus thought that it was an aesthetic he’d like in his future home. He had only scored one interview so far, and he was far from scrounging the money to lease an apartment, but lately, the idea of having a place of his own no longer felt like a distant fantasy. _Thanks to Dave_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully. He shook the thought from his head and walked in.

“Dave-O!” Klaus greeted, shimmying into the booth.

His blue eyes lit up. “Hey, I know this place looks a little odd, but their waffles are to die for.”

“You think anything is too _odd_ for little ol’ me? Especially when waffles are involved? Dave! I thought you knew me!”

Dave chuckled. “My bad, my bad.”

“So,” asked Klaus, lacing his hands together in mock professionalism. “How did you find this lovely spot?”

“It’s an embarrassing story, actually,” admitted Dave. “I don’t know if you want to hear it.”

“Indulge me.”

“Well...I found it when I was a sophomore in college. I was at a party, flirting with a guy—” 

Klaus’s heart skipped a beat. 

_Keep it in your pants, Klaus. Just because he’s into dudes doesn’t mean he would ever want_ you _._

 _“_ —and I asked for his number. The next day…I called the number and a waitress from a ‘Kitty’s Cafe’ answered, asking whether I wanted to order takeout or delivery.” Dave let out a nervous laugh. “It stung, but I was pretty hungover, so I cut my losses and ordered something anyway.”

“Ouch. Sorry, man. Totally unrelated question—by chance, did he happen to be blind?”

Dave chuckled, shaking his head. “I really don’t blame him. I was humiliatingly drunk when I asked. I honestly don’t even remember his name or most of that night.” He scratched his head, eyes glancing down at the tablecloth in a way that hinted that it wasn’t an isolated incident. “It took a while, but I rarely drink anything harder than wine anymore.”

“Wow. That’s really impressive,” Klaus said with a rare sincerity. “Shit, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get sober.”

“Hey, no pressure, but that’s what I thought, too.”

Klaus _really_ wants to slap the hopeful look off of Ben’s face at that comment. _Can’t a guy have a moment without getting emotionally cockblocked by his dead brother?_

A waitress took the break in conversation as an opportunity to come and take their orders. Klaus was relieved by the change in topic, although he would be lying if Dave’s story didn’t make him feel something indefinable. He didn’t hate the feeling.

When their orders arrived (Belgian waffles for Klaus, biscuits and gravy for Dave) the conversation had returned to the topic of Klaus’s progress at the library.

“I honestly didn’t think I’d last a day. I only went to the library because my brother made me check it out.”

“Which brother?”

The plate scratched as he stabbed his waffle. “Ben.”

“Well,” Dave considered, “Ben seems like a swell enough guy.”

“Don’t tell him that; his ego is big enough as it is,” sighed Klaus, glaring at his waffle instead of the adjacent table where he knew Ben was gloating.

“Hey, Ben might’ve made you come, but you were the one that put in all the work. Klaus, you got a job interview, that’s incredible!”

Klaus glanced up with a blank expression. “I got an interview at a _burger joint.”_

“And I went tens of thousands of dollars in student loan debt just to sort books. In this economy, anything is worth celebrating. You deserve to feel proud of yourself.” Dave assured, reaching a hand out on the table for Klaus to hold. For a moment, Klaus didn’t understand the gesture, before realizing it was an offer. Usually, people just grabbed him if they wanted to touch him.

“I suppose,” Klaus said slowly. He placed his hand in Dave’s. The librarian squeezed it back. The gesture made him feel ten times more vulnerable than he had ever felt undressed.

“I’ll keep saying it until you believe it. That’ll get tiring for you real quick, so you better start believin’ it.”

A moment went by where neither of them dared move.

And then it caught up to Klaus, who retracted his hand to push waffle bits around on his plate.

“I don’t understand you,” blurted Klaus.

Dave set down his biscuit. “Why’s that?”

A million potential answers exploded in Klaus’s head like fireworks. He didn’t understand why Dave gave him compliments that weren’t about his appearance. He didn’t understand why Dave didn’t treat him any differently after learning about how he paid his bills. He didn’t understand why Dave treated him with respect even when he was high. He didn’t understand why Dave was certain that he was capable of holding down a day job. He didn’t understand why Dave wanted to spend time with him in public, why Dave wanted to spend time with him fully clothed, why Dave wanted to spend time with him at all.

“You’re into men, right?” was the only thing his idiot brain came up with.

“Uh, yeah,” Dave stammered. “I didn’t think you’d have a problem with it.”

“No! No, trust me, I’m super gay. Well, pan, but _pfft,_ semantics. That’s not it, I just…” Klaus bit his lip. Maybe Dave was just too shy to say it. He had first-time clients like that, before. “So, it’s okay if you just want me to come over to your place. We don’t have to keep meeting in public.”

That was not what Dave was expecting. “What?”

“Yeah,” encouraged Klaus, his voice perkier now that he was back in his element. “You don’t have to beat around the bush with me. I know my conversation is riveting, but trust me, there are much better uses for this pout.” He batted his eyelashes in a way that he thought looked sexy.

“Klaus, I don’t want that.”

His body stilled.

_Oh._

Klaus was used to rejection. It was part of his job, after all. Some of the people he propositioned would send him away with threats and violence. But, somehow, Dave’s polite words hurt even more than spit and slurs.

“Sorry,” Klaus laughed, his tone suspiciously nonchalant. He hit his forehead mockingly in the universal ‘I-don’t-know-what-I-was-thinking’ gesture. “My bad. I know you were just being nice—you’re so nice, Dave—and I know you’re not into me. I’m barred out, I wasn’t thinking straight. Do me a solid and pretend I never said anything.”

“You think I’m not into you?” 

Klaus was lying when he said he was too high to think. But now, he thought he might actually be because nothing was making sense to him. At _all_.

Dave sensed his confusion and continued. “Klaus. _I like you._ But I don’t want to go on some emotionless one-night-stand. I don’t think I’m capable of that in general, but especially not with you. I would love to go on an actual date, but if you’re not ready for that—even if you’re never ready for that—I’m just happy to spend time with you.”

“So, you don’t _just_ want to fuck,” summarized Klaus.

“No.”

“But you still like me?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“...Okay.”

Klaus felt like a blushing virgin. He always skipped past this stage in a relationship, the awkward middle-school dance routine. Usually, he met people and saw them naked within the end of the night. There was never much talking involved, or at least the kind of talking that made him actually reveal anything about himself. If someone started showing interest in him beyond the physical, he’d chalk it up to either pre-nut horniness or post-nut afterglow and be out the door before they could say “let’s get breakfast”.

But despite the inherent awkwardness of whatever was happening with Dave, Klaus didn’t want it to stop.

“You said something about a date.”

Dave’s blue eyes sparkled. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Klaus replied without hesitation.

"Great," Dave beamed, "it's a date."

When the bill came, Klaus insisted on splitting it until the other man gave in.

“Fair enough, but I’m covering dinner this weekend. I know of this darling Italian place; I can text you the name.”

Three days later, Klaus felt jittery in a way that he had never felt before going out.

One reason that Klaus liked sex work was the art of getting ready. He paid ten bucks to the gym every month so that he always had a place to shower and store his make-up. Even though Klaus rarely ever looked forward to the actual event, he loved the ritual of washing off the filth of reality and redressing himself in sultry eyeshadow and outfits that screamed: “ _look at me!”_. There was a kind of therapy in transforming into a two-dimensional character for the night. All the responsibilities of being daytime-Klaus were relinquished. He didn’t have to search for his next meal, he didn’t have to worry about whether or not the shelter would be full, and he didn’t have to be himself. (Nobody would want him to be himself.) On the nights that he worked, all he had to worry about was smudged lipstick and missing a spot shaving.

He took pride in his appearance. He savored how just one look at his body could make someone’s eyes light up like a cigarette. So, he dolled himself up to look pretty for people he didn’t actually want to sleep with. He just wanted _them_ to want to sleep with _him_. That was the entire thrill: the thrill of being wanted. He fluffed his hair, painted his eyelashes, and plumped his lips. Because if he looked good, they would feel good about themselves, and then maybe he could pretend that he was a good person for the night. And then everything would feel okay. Because most sex was just that: a mindless exchange of reassurance. Attempts to feel momentarily okay.

But somehow, he thought it would be different with Dave. His body flushed feverishly hot when he thought about making Dave—perfect, button-up-wearing _Dave_ —come undone with his touch.

It wouldn't just be a mindless exchange of reassurance.

Klaus waltzed into the gym two hours prior to his date, heading straight towards his locker in the back in rehearsed motions. He shaved, prepped himself, and concealed his blemishes with practiced ease. Dave deserved something worth taking.

Even though he was twenty-four and a far cry from the teenager that entered the frat party, Klaus still had not forgotten what Luke taught him. People don’t do things for free. Dave might not want a one-night-stand, but that was okay because he wouldn't mind a recurring payment. Tonight, he would let Dave spoil him with some lavish Italian dinner that the online reviews told him he couldn't afford. And, in turn, Klaus would spoil him in a different way. It was the only way that he wouldn’t feel guilty for taking advantage of the librarian’s kindness. (And the only way he believed that Dave would want to stay with him after he learned about all the weird shit in his life.)

Once he was satisfied with his reflection, he pulled on a shimmery mesh shirt and a silky skirt. 

“Ben, what do we think of heels?”

“Klaus. I’m not Allison. I’ve worn the same outfit for the past decade.”

“I can’t believe we’re related,” gasped Klaus in mock horror.

“We’re _not_ ,” snorted the ghost. “Sure, wear them. But don’t keep Dave waiting. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually like the guy.”

Klaus clicked his tongue and wrangled on a pair of heeled boots. “Me too.”

Dinner with Dave was, in a word, indulgent. It was the type of restaurant that folded the napkins into swans and didn’t put the price on the menu. Dave told Klaus stories of his upbringing, humorous anecdotes of his mother’s ranch in Texas. They giggled together over the glow of candlelight and flambé and before they knew it, an hour had passed. It was...nice. Too nice. Something like guilt joined the pasta in Klaus’s stomach.

"Well, Davey, this has been delightful," gushed Klaus, "what do you say we finish these breadsticks over a movie at your place?"

"I’d love that,” smiled Dave, his eyes crinkling. “I don’t think my housemates should bother us, they said something about going to a party. They’re a right pain in the ass most of the time.” He stood up before pulling Klaus’s chair out for him.

“My, a gentleman,” crooned Klaus.

“I try.”

The pair held hands on the way to Dave’s old beat-up Ford F100. The conversation on the drive back was accompanied by his Billy Joel CD, playing _Scenes From An Italian Restaurant_. It was straight out of a movie scene, and Klaus felt like a teenage girl on her ride home from prom.

Dave’s apartment was humble; nothing to brag about. He was a librarian with student debt in New York City, after all. But it felt homey nonetheless; walls littered with smiling photos of his family and friends. Klaus bullied him about a framed picture of him and his coworkers.

Dave huffed. “The 2012 Ugly Christmas Sweater Contest! I _won_ that, I’ll have you know.”

“I can’t believe you ever won a contest with ‘ugly’ in the name.”

“Aren’t you a smooth talker?”

“I try,” teased Klaus, repeating Dave’s line from earlier. He inched closer, pulling Dave’s muscled arm onto the couch. Dave fell on top of him gracelessly. Klaus rolled his hips up to meet his groin, and--

“Hey, whoa, what’s the rush?” sputtered Dave.

“You took care of me at dinner, so now…” Klaus peeled off his mesh shirt, “let _me_ take care of you.”

“That’s not what I meant by bringing you back here to finish off the breadsticks.”

“But you paid for dinner.” 

“Yes, I know.” It sounded more like a question.

“ _So_ , I’m paying you back,” Klaus spoke slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Klaus. You don’t need to...pay me back.”

“Yes. Yes I do,” huffed the medium, a little annoyed this time. “I’d rather do it now than sometime when I’m not expecting it.”

“When you’re not expecting it?” Dave echoed, his voice high-pitched and strained. He guided Klaus off of him, his hands gentle but the look in his eyes feral.

Klaus didn’t realize the bombshell he just dropped.

“Yeah, like, when I’m passed out or something,” explained Klaus quickly. He needed Dave to understand that this was just a normal thing that happened.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m sorry, did I say something to make you mad? I was just trying to help—”

“Klaus. Listen to me. I would never, _ever_ , take advantage of you. That never should happen to you, or anyone.”

Ben nodded encouragingly from the corner.

The medium cocked his head in confusion. “Honestly, it’s all in a day’s work.”

“No, like, even in your profession, that should never happen. You should still be in control. Everyone deserves to have a choice.”

“Oh,” is all Klaus can come up with in response. It sunk in that they weren’t going to have sex, so he pulled his shirt back on.

“Can I—can I hold your hand?” Dave asked, bending down to reach his date’s eyes. “You can say no.”

 _You can say no_ was such a bizarre offer, especially for something as innocent as _holding hands_ that the words echoed in Klaus’s ears. He nodded, and he meant it. Dave reached out to stroke the tops of his knuckles. His fist softened at the touch.

“Okay: I’m not good at this,” Klaus admitted. “I’m not going to be an easy person to be with. At least at first. I don’t even really know how to date.”

“That’s okay, Klaus,” Dave promised. “I’d like to learn how to do this with you if you’d let me.”

“You sap.”

“You have that effect on me.”

Klaus snorted. He scooched closer and rested his head on Dave’s chest, all the while keeping their hands nestled in place.

“I guess sometimes it’s easier to give head than it is to fix one.”

Dave chuckled, the heaving of his chest rocking Klaus up and down. The feeling made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Listening to Dave’s heartbeat, Klaus realized that maybe not all surprises were bad. It would be a long road until he got used to love that wasn't transactional.

But for the first time, Klaus didn't mind waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> if you like leaving comments, I love reading them! <3
> 
> there might be a part 2 exploring their progressing relationship, I haven't decided yet.


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